


Dragons

by Athena4 (LFN_Archivist)



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 12:48:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18250169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFN_Archivist/pseuds/Athena4
Summary: This story was originally posted to the LFN Storyboard Archives by Athena4.





	Dragons

"Madeline. My office. Ten minutes." 

Madeline's comlink shut itself down with a vicious beep, leaving her to silently meet the eyes of the man across from her. 

"You've been summoned," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I should leave." 

"Paul," she replied evenly, walking around her desk to seat herself before him on its edge. She waited until his eyes met hers before continuing. "This conversation isn't over." 

"No. It's not. Dinner tonight?" 

"You know I can't commit until I hear what Adrian has to say." 

"Yes. Of course." 

"I'll contact you later." 

"I'll be waiting," Paul replied, standing and walking towards the door. With one last look he left, shutting the door behind him. 

***** 

Ten minutes later, Madeline sat on the ledge in Adrian's Perch, awaiting the older woman's arrival. As Adrian entered, Madeline watched her warily, gauging her mood with one quick look, then steeling herself against the anger that permeated her body language. 

Sighing deeply, Madeline spoke first. "Is there a problem?" 

"Several," Adrian replied coolly, looking Madeline up and down with a veiled hint of disgust. "But we'll discuss those later. Right now, I have a mission for you." 

Madeline's chest constricted as Adrian handed her the panel that contained her mission profile. She didn't even have to look at it to know that she wouldn't like it. Adrian's demeanour said it all; she was enjoying this far too much. Scanning the panel quickly, she absorbed all the crucial details. "This is an independent?" 

"Yes. It's a fairly simple search and retrieve; with one catch..." 

"The Valentine aspect." 

"Precisely. Mr. Perez runs tight security, but he has a thing for leggy brunettes. This sort of retrieval requires your expertise." 

"I see." And Madeline did see, all too well. Adrian was angry and was using this mission to show her who was in control. What Madeline couldn't determine, at least not yet, was precisely what motivated Adrian's anger. 

Looking over the profile once more, Madeline made several quick deductions. Yes. The information held in Perez's computer system was vital to several missions on deck over the next few months. Yes. He had a thing for leggy brunettes. But this was hardly a mission that required Madeline's "expertise" as Adrian had put it. Any low-level Valentine Op could handle it. 

"When does the mission prep?" she asked, thinking of Paul, and the promise she'd made to contact him after her meeting. 

"The van is only awaiting your arrival. You'll study the profile more carefully en route. Walter will be going along to outfit surveillance; costume is awaiting you as well." 

Checkmate. It was as if Adrian could read her thoughts. Making a mental note to recheck her office and apartment for surveillance equipment, Madeline stood, meeting Adrian's eyes. 

"Time table?" 

"Indefinite. We expect closure by early morning. But that entirely depends on you, my dear." 

"Of course. My team is waiting. Will that be all?" 

"Yes." Adrian's reply was succinct, her voice even. But something in her eyes made Madeline's skin crawl. 

***** 

The new day had not even begun to dawn when Madeline finally found her way home. It had been a rough but successful mission; and it had become clear early on why Adrian's eyes had lit up at the prospect of sending Madeline on it alone. Not only did Perez like leggy brunettes, he also liked rough sex and passive women. Two items that were _not_ mentioned in the profile. 

Tossing her keys on the table by the door, Madeline took off her coat, pulling it carefully over a bruised wrist and dumping it on the table as well. Wrapping an arm around an equally bruised right side, she passed into her apartment, muttering several choice words about Adrian under her breath. 

She was stopped mid-curse by the sight before her. Candlelight flooded her living room, the centrepiece being two large pillars burning in the centre of her dining table. The table itself was set for an elaborate meal, which now lay cold and uneaten. Champagne cooled in a bucket of what must have, earlier in the evening, been ice, but was now water. Soft jazz played in the background, serving to highlight the romantic atmosphere that had been created in her apartment. 

Walking around to the far side of the table, Madeline snuffed out the two pillars with her fingers before proceeding into the living room. As she entered the room, she took in the scene before her. Paul was slouched on the couch, fast asleep. His suit jacket was tossed carelessly into the corner of the room, probably thrown there in a fit of frustration early in the evening. His glasses were sitting on the coffee table, next to her open laptop. Files ran across the screen - mission reports, surveillance tapes - all from her mission this evening. 

Shutting off the laptop, she shoved it to the other end of the coffee table. All she really wanted right now was a hot shower and her warm bed, alone. But he'd worked so hard; he cared so much... He'd want to know she was all right... 

Sighing deeply, she sat down next to him on the couch, reaching out with her good arm to stroke his face. "Paul..." she whispered. His eyelids fluttered at the touch of her hand, and he awoke, eyes focusing immediately on the large purple bruise coming out on the side of her face. Pulling himself up to a sitting position, he clasped her hand in his, reaching out with his own to stroke the bruise. "Are you all right?" 

Flinching slightly, Madeline stood, putting distance between herself and Paul; hoping that distance would weaken the desire to crawl into his arms. Gesturing towards the laptop on the coffee table, she seated herself at the now-darkened table. "You saw what happened," she said, rubbing unconsciously at her wrist. "You read the profile..." 

"That's not what I asked." 

"I know." 

"Do I have to ask again?" 

"I'm fine. The bruises will heal, my ribs will mend." 

Paul sighed deeply, his annoyance clear. Lifting himself from his place on the couch, he crouched before her, turning her face gently so that her eyes met his. "That's not what I meant either. Why won't you talk to me?" 

"I'm not ready." 

He released her face, taking the seat across from her at the table. He looked out into the candlelight for several minutes, then turned back towards her, sliding his chair closer so he could take her uninjured hand in his. He played with it idly as he spoke, massaging her palm and stroking her fingers. "Not ready to discuss last night's mission? Or not ready to share anything with me at all?" 

Madeline closed her eyes. She'd been anticipating this conversation, but had hoped he would let it drop for the evening. Breathing deeply, she tried to ignore the feeling of his hand on hers; tried to ignore the heat from his body permeating her skin through his touch. Most of all, she tried to ignore the fact that she wanted to feel his hands on her, wanted him, after the night she'd had, to make her believe she was worthy... 

"I've been alone for a long time, Paul. I've learned to deal with situations on my own; to deal with emotions in my own way. I can't...My emotions don't come as easily as yours. I can't let them come that easily." 

"How can I make it easier?" His hurt and frustration were clear in his voice. He truly wanted to help, and he truly didn't understand the reasons why she kept her feelings separate. 

"It's not that simple," she said softly, removing her hand from his grip and placing it beside her injured one in her lap. She stared down at them as she spoke, as if the lines of her hands would reveal the psychology behind her decisions. "I don't want my feelings to come easier..." 

From the corner of her eye, she saw him flinch visibly, as if struck. "You don't want me in your life," he said sharply, standing to pace the floor behind the couch and his chair. 

She caught his hand in her injured one as his pacing brought him closer. Ignoring the ache, she pulled him towards her, bringing him to her level so she could see his eyes. She saw pain reflected in them, a deep grey of hurt and anger, rather than the china blue that came with his laughter. "I never said that." 

"You didn't have to." Try as she might, she couldn't get him to meet her eyes, to see in them what her words couldn't get across. 

Her own frustration mounting, she reached out with her good hand, forcing his face around to meet hers, his eyes to gaze into hers. "Dammit, don't be a child. Don't make assumptions about things you don't understand. How can you possibly know how I feel? How can you possibly understand what I go through every day to keep us safe?" 

Letting go of both his hand and his face, Madeline stood, walking away from the table towards the living room, snuffing out more candles with the tips of her fingers. Paul was quiet behind her, sensing, perhaps, that she wasn't done with her tirade. Finally, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest, she continued. "How could you possibly know how tempting it is for me to let you cradle me in your arms and protect me from the memory of last night?" 

She heard him approach behind her and turned towards him, letting her hands fall to her sides. "But I can't," she whispered. "It's not that simple." 

The blue in Paul's eyes shone in the remaining candlelight. As she stood, guarded by the darkness she'd created around her, he reached out and drew her close, wrapping his arms around her carefully. 

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice a whisper against her ear. "I shouldn't have pushed." 

"You had to push," Madeline admitted, feeling Paul's heart beat against her cheek. "But I'm not sure what I can give..." 

Loosening his arms around her body, he stroked her back, kissing the top of her forehead before he replied. "I'll take what I can get," he said finally, stepping back and taking her hand. He tugged it until she followed him, leading her back into the living room, where the light was still strong. 

"Dance with me," he said, pushing aside the coffee table and kicking a stray pillow to the opposite side of the room. 

Smiling for the first time all evening, Madeline fell back into his arms, her injured wrist cradled against his hip. As she leaned against his chest, she let the events of the previous night fall away, focusing instead on the feeling of his arms around her. Perhaps she could get used to this after all... 

The words of song that played as they danced filtered in through her haze. She knew it wasn't part of her collection, yet the words seemed strangely appropriate. 

_We both are lost and alone...in this world...walk with me...in a gentle rain..._

"Did you choose this song?" 

"The album, yes, not this song...Why, don't you like it?" "No. It's perfect," Madeline replied, beginning to lean more heavily against Paul's chest, favouring her ribs. "Can we sit?" 

"Of course, I'm sorry." 

"It's all right. Let's just sit." 

After making sure Madeline was comfortable on the couch, Paul returned to the table, picking up a plate of food, the bottle of champagne and two glasses with the dexterity of an experienced waiter. Placing them before her on the coffee table, he sat beside her on the couch, pouring the champagne. 

"It's lukewarm, but that can't be helped," he smiled, handing her her glass and placing the plate of food on his lap. "I've been told roast chicken is good cold..." 

"You don't have to do this, you know." 

"Sure I do," he smiled, pulling apart the chicken and popping a piece into his mouth. "It'll do," he mumbled, pulling another piece off the plate and holding it before her. "Eat." 

Taking the piece from his fingers, Madeline placed it in her mouth, watching in wonderment as Paul continued to break up the bird with his hands. 

"This is not the gourmet dinner I had planned. But it will have to do," he winked, picking up his own glass of champagne and leaning back against the cushions, plate still in his lap. "A toast," he said, tilting his glass towards hers. 

"To?" 

"The future?" 

Madeline licked her lips, the taste of roast chicken heavy on them. Leaning over and kissing him firmly on the lips, she clinked her glass against his, a twinkle lighting her eyes. "Our future," she stated, sipping her champagne. 

"Our future," he repeated, stunned. 

Together, they finished off the roast chicken, sipping champagne between bites. As the sun began to rise and shine through her window, Madeline began to yawn; the difficulties of the previous evening and night catching up with her. Putting down her glass, she stretched her feet out onto the table, gasping slightly at the twinge of pain in her ribs the movement caused. 

"Careful!" Paul admonished, putting down his own glass and wrapping an arm around her. 

Smiling, she leaned against his shoulder, closing her eyes against the light shining in through the window. She felt him take her injured wrist in his hand, stroking it gently, turning it to study the bruising that had swollen it during the night. As she lay, she felt his hand come up to touch the bruise on the side of her face, now a deep purple. 

"Why is she doing this?" he asked quietly, his words almost lost in her hair. 

"It was a mission, Paul. It wasn't the first, and it won't be the last." 

"I don't like it." His words were childish. She was sure he knew that and she wouldn't reprimand him for it. Not this time. He sighed and continued, placing a hand lightly on her thigh. She flinched unconsciously, the bruising there as fresh as that on her face. Startled, he removed his hand again, instead clenching it into a fist and placing it on his own thigh. "I don't want to see you hurting like this." 

Unclenching his fingers and wrapping them around her own, Madeline opened her eyes, shifting position so she could see his face. "What you and I want means nothing. You know that, don't you?" 

"I know. But it doesn't change the facts." 

"No. It doesn't." They sat in silence for several moments, hands entwined, each watching the other. The realisation that, at least in this room, what they wanted did matter, dawning slowly. Finally, Madeline broke the silence. "I really need to sleep," she said quietly, cupping the side of his face with her good hand. "But I'd like you to stay with me." 

"Are you sure?" he said, his eyes recounting the various bruises on her body. They eventually settled back on her face, a faint hint of moisture shining in their depths. "How could anyone...?" 

"Shhhh..." she whispered, placing a finger on his lips. "I need you to stay with me. Please don't make me say it..." 

Understanding dawned in his eyes as he recalled their earlier conversation, and he stood, using their entwined hands to pull her gently from the couch. They walked together to her bedroom, and he pulled the shade, blocking out the bright morning sun. Without disrobing she crawled under the covers, mildly self-conscious of the bruises he couldn't see; knowing, without having to ask, that they would only upset him further. Removing his own pants and shirt, he climbed in behind her, spooning his body against hers, and wrapping his arms around her upper body. 

"Sleep now," he said softly, kissing her shoulder through her shirt. "I'll keep the dragons away..."


End file.
